Page 61 of Notorious

She stiffened. “But—but somebody might see us.”

“We are married—kissing, and more—is permitted.” His mouth caressed the sensitive skin of her neck, and she sucked in a noisy lungful of air. The sound acted as some sort of catalyst, and he slipped a hand around her nape and turned her to face him, his other hand at her waist, his lips moving across her jaw until they reached her mouth, where he began to feather kisses.

“So soft,” he whispered, the words hot against her skin.

She was breathing loudly, her soughing, uneven gasps drowning out even the stridulation of the evening insects.

“I like kissing and touching you far better than fighting with you, Drusilla.” He paused, nibbling her jaw, an area she’d never thought of as particularly sensitive. Until now. “Do you like me touching you? Kissing you?”

She swallowed convulsively, not trusting herself to speak.

He pulled back and she opened her eyes, but he did not release her. Instead, he studied her with huge pupils and stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I want you.” His nostrils flared. “I desire you. I want to make you my wife. Tonight I will come to you.” His voice had lost its usual smooth, low timber, and it made her heart thrash and swell: he wanted her.

“Yes,” she said, the only word she could manage to squeeze out. But it was enough.

He lowered his mouth over hers, the hot tip of his tongue tracing the seam. He nibbled her, licked her, sucked her—she lost track of what he was doing, until his tongue slid between her parted lips. Drusilla started.

“Shhh,” he murmured, kissing and nibbling her lower lip. “Let me inside.”

Her head spun at his words and the tone with which they’d been uttered.

She opened and he slid inside, his tongue stroking hers, teasing a response. Drusilla was hesitant at first, but his low growl of encouragement made her bolder and she accepted his invitation to explore. She gloried in his taste, smell, and texture, and invaded him more deeply and with growing confidence. When she took his tongue between her lips and sucked, he groaned, his arm tightening around her, making her realize he’d been feathering touches up and down her side, his hand hot against the silk of her gown.

He kissed her once more and then pulled slowly back.

When she opened her eyes, she saw that his were black and heavy lidded. His lips seemed fuller and redder, and his breathing was uneven and labored.

He gave a slight shake of his head, his smile gentle as he tucked a straying curl behind her ear. “Drusilla.” His voice pulsed with . . . something.

His other hand continued its caressing while they held each other’s gazes. Never had she imagined she would see such an expression on his face: he wanted her.

He sighed, leaned close, gave her a brief kiss, and then stood, turning away to make some adjustment to his clothing before turning back and holding out his hand.

“Come,” he said, “let us get the next few hours over with and then we can scheme some way to get out of here early.”

When they reentered the ballroom, Drusilla was stunned to find that life was still moving on as usual. How could that be? Out in the garden the earth seemed to have altered—or the air had thinned, or her body had begun to float away, or something.

He wanted her. Gabriel Marlington, the perfect star always beyond reach, wanted her. The knowledge left her breathless, as if she’d been dropped suddenly from a great height. He wanted her.

“Ah, it appears we returned just in time,” Gabriel said, leaning down to whisper in her ear, the intimate gesture causing a tightening that began in her chest and shot down to the place between her thighs. So this was what it was like not to be a wallflower? To be with a handsome man? She cut a furtive glance around the room beneath her lashes and saw female eyes trained on her with envy.

“Mrs. Marlington, I believe this is my set?”

They turned to find Visel behind them, his arm extended. Gabriel squeezed her hand and released her.

Lord Visel’s blond good looks were angelic, but the expression in his celestial eyes was hard: he was not a happy man.

They took their positions, his gaze never leaving her. “How are you enjoying married life thus far, Mrs. Marlington?” He did not speak loudly, but the words would have reached those around them, all of whom were behaving as if their ears weren’t stretched to capacity to listen to this most fascinating of conversations.

Drusilla realized he was trying to discompose her, expecting her marriage was not a happy union.

She gave him what she hoped was a smug, self-satisfied smile. “I find that it suits me very well, my lord.”

The music began, and it was a few moments before he could respond. They came together, and he bowed over her hand before leading her into formation, the two of them side by side.

“I’m very pleased to hear that, Mrs. Marlington. I’m afraid I inferred—from your husband’s presence at White’s on your wedding night—that matters between you might be rather . . . unsettled.”

Drusilla stumbled slightly. How dare he!